The thistles are all exploding with thistledown. I have this utterly irrational urge to, like, collect, spin, and weave with it, or something, just because there’s so much of it! This was one of my primary thoughts while walking (dear god) nine and a half miles today. Another one was a long and serious consideration of how I would survive if I was thrown back a hundred years in time with only the clothes on my back (answer: get by long enough to place a large bet on the Titanic sinking), including how I would explain my utterly inappropriate haircut (I sold it for money!) and my even-more-inappropriate clothes (I was set upon by creative bandits? …who invented tennis shoes?). I decided I would be best off writing newspaper articles or serialized stories, and also, in order to help my future self, also writing all the manuscripts I’d like to get caught up on and putting them in a safe deposit box, which I would notify myself of via postal letter sent a hundred years into the future.
…don’t other people think things like this while they’re out walking? In my defense (if I need a defense) I think I sorted out some stuff for the short story whilst walking, too. *frowns at it*
Several people showed up at the war room this morning, some of them even with the purpose of writing, so I’ll probably start posting over at Toonowrimo when I go to work in the mornings. Hopefully some other Europe-based writers will join me.
Oh! Ted has arranged a hotel room for us for the 13th-15th of August, so we’re going up to Belfast to see the tall ships. Belfast-based people, get in touch, we should have dinner!
miles to Minas Tirith: 535.7
ytd wordcount: 198,600